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Showing results for tags 'csa'.
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Hey again, it's Allen. This is something that... is such a topic. There seems to be so much debate over recovered memories, but anyone who has recovered memories knows how real this is. I wanted to talk about our journey to discovery, though I admittedly don't remember a lot about it. (such are dissociative disorders I guess) From here, there will be some graphic details of intrusive memories and CSA, so please click away if you're not in a place to read that. It all started in middle school. this was before I realized we were a system. I know others were around, looking back, b
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So.... I thought maybe using this blog as a safe space to share our experiences might help us. This is our first psot, so it's just going to be an intro and maybe some rambling. We're the Cosmos System, a mentally and physically disabled system who... well, we haven't figured out if we're DID or OSDD, but we're somewhere in there. There are over 80 of us, so it can be a bit chaotic, but I'm really glad we're all here and that I can be with everyone. Welve been on T for five years, but not all of us identify as trans or transmasc. If you want to know someone's pronouns, feel free to ask! U
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trigger warning EMDR Episode 2: My Earliest Memory
asparkofcourage posted a blog entry in A Weight Lifted
Earliest Memory: Walking on the concrete foundation for my future home and falling backwards. My mom coming to pick me up. Age: 3-4 Distressing Level: 0 Theme: A push and pull between wanting a normal mother and wanting her out of my life. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Bilateral Movement 1 Mom coming to pick me up. Everything was blurry because of my poor vision. _________________________________________________________________________________ -
I have to write about safety for next week. I'll post my thoughts here. To have a complete sense of safety is when I feel comfortable to be myself, secure in the knowledge I wont be physically hurt and to the ability to speak my mind without repercussions. When I was growing up in my childhood home, I didn't have any of this. I did not feel safe in my own home. I just sat in my room with my door locked all day, everyday. I even jumped out my window one day just to try it, in case I ever needed to. My brother sexually abused me for a certain amount of time (I can't remember a lot of
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I'm supposed to write about trust for therapy next week. I'll write down some ideas here over the next week. It is very hard to trust anyone. I don't trust anyone to care for me, to protect me or to put myself first. I trust my parents to be self interested and self preserving. I trust my brother (abuser) to be self interested and to ignore the validity of my pain. I've accepted the fact that trust is fickle and the people closest to you will be the ones to let you down. Blood relations don't mean too much. If I do have trust in someone it can be very easily broken by the mo
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I've felt really gross and contaminated since yesterday. I've been going back and forth between complete denial and overwhelming disgust. Thinking about what my grandfather did to me makes me feel physically sick. I was diagnosed with bipolar this week. My brain is twisting this in ugly ways. Like, "Maybe the bipolar gene never would have been activated if the CSA didn't happen. Maybe you shouldn't have let him do those things to you. Maybe you shouldn't have been born at all if this is how it's going to be." I'm starting to acknowledge that my relationship with my mom probably
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Its been awhile- things have been good overall but that doesn't mean it hasn't been tough. I've been doing a lot of work in therapy lately with EMDR. Usually, after sessions I feel a lot of things and I find the best way for me to process them is through writing.
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Well i know its been since last year since i wrote so much has happened. since my brothers suicide i couldnt handle it any more and came really close to the edge of SH and so i went into inpatient to get some help to deal with the feeling surrounding it and also got my meds regulated at the same time. i am in no means "better". im searching for the light right now. im searching for hope. i try to see the good in things but right now even though i did go inpatient i still hurt. i hurt because he left me that is why im searching for hope. he was my hope my light at the end of the tunnel. my hear
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I’m not a jealous person, but occasionally, it consumes me. It only happens in very specific scenarios. It’s whenever I see someone run well in a race. Jealously may not be the best word- that’s what my abuser told me it was. However, when I really sit with the feelings, I see it’s so much more than that. It took me years to admit to myself that he negatively affected my life and that I would have been better off without him… but it’s the truth. I feel sad. I mourn something that I could have been, but that he took from me. For years, when I would run, I would black out. My body wa
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I wish your words cut like knives. Tearing open my innocent flesh, So that I could see you were a monster. I would have stood a chance. I wish your touch left bruises. My battered body could have matched my broken soul. Skin painted black and purple means run. But I stayed. I wish your kisses were daggers, I would not have mistaken it for love It was a dark, dark hellish force, With the smile of a saint. I wish it was “bad”. The shame wouldn’t live in my body, The guilt wouldn’t eat me alive. But it’s never “bad” enough, is it?
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I was never taught how to cook or bake growing up, but I was taught at a very young age that my voice didn't matter. The first 10 years of my life I was silenced. Now at 32 years of age (22 years after speaking out against my abuser) I still feel the ramifications of that silence. I still am that little girl struggling to find my voice. My place. They say that there is a secret formula to life. That the events that take place always have a response. Which in turn ultimately lead to the outcome. It is in our response to those events which can create a positive or negative outcome. I
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My hypersexuality is a sneaky, hidden trait. To most people I come across as very modest and sex averse. I'm afraid of wearing anything that shows skin because I'm insecure about my body and don't want people to pay attention to it. I have the body language of someone who is ashamed to exist. It's rare for me to talk about sex. But privately, I'm obsessed with sex. Or at least obsessed with performing sexual behaviors to control the feelings I have from being raped. I've been compulsively masturbating 3-4 times per day. Sometimes more. I don't really want to. It's to the point
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Well, yesterday was my first Thanksgiving without my brother. As ive written he took his life a couple of months ago. so thus leaving this my first holiday without him. we went through csa together so pretty much everything in my mind and logic should be a peace of cake after that. Boy was i way off track and wrong. i thought i would be able to handle it with style and grace. after all i had his ashes so in a way he was there in "presence". also along that line he was there in spirit that should have been enough for me or anyone i guess. well it wasnt for me. i was so used to even if we weren
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hopefully this isn't too much info, i just needed to get it off my chest. hi everyone, i'm new here and super nervous about this. when i was 3 i was sexually assaulted by my brother who was 5. this means i struggle with the blame and everything, because i don't know if he knew better or not. and i blame myself because i was too young to say no. i repressed this memory and didn't remember it until i was about 14 (i'm 18 now). i'm trying to work through it but struggling, and i think i just really need to find people in the same situation as me so i feel less alone.
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Well, I've been trying to think of how to write this entry and even more on what to title it, still not sure the title is correct, but I am trying. Since, my brother, who i when through child sexual abuse, physical mental and emotional abuse with took his life the nightmares have come back. they seem to be of the abuse that we went through together. they went away for so long. i dont understand why they have come back now. i have been dealing with the abuse in therapy, well until now because of the stop in progress due to the suicide. i havent self harmed in over a year, i now use a rubber ban
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I am not new to this community. I have tried to do a blog before but failed at it. Recent events have brought me back here and I feel that it is important for me to do this. My therapist said a blog is kind of like a journal entry and you can write whatever, so I think I will share the recent events that have brought me to do the blog and a bit about my background. At the age of 4 I began to be sexually abused along with my brother by our babysitter, mother and her many boyfriends. Growing up in foster care from the age 6-10 some of the abuse continued for me and at times with him as well
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I just got home from dropping my child off at daycare and I cried on the way home. BUT they were good, healing tears. So hang in there with the story…it does have a good ending. Rewind to yesterday morning. I’m getting ready to go out the door amidst the mad rush of getting shoes on, backpacks ready, thermoses filled, coats on, the approximately 1,000,000 things that all need to be done when getting a 3 and 4 year-old out the door. My youngest child says in a scared voice, Is T going to be at school today? This is the first time I have heard her mention this name, so my ears perk up and m
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Enter catchy title here...because I'm drawing blanks.
Capulet posted a blog entry in A Grain of Salt & A Pound of Chocolate
Hello, all. Did you all enjoy NOT hearing about my schoolwork? I hope so, because I HAVE enjoyed not bitching about certain classes and papers that I really didn't want to write. Of course, these were for the 'required' classes not pertaining to my social work major and it would only be natural for me to complain about those. I will say though, that when I return to campus in a couple weeks, I'll be TRYING to refrain from giving my (former) Government professor a glare for giving me the only B grade of my last semester - it was a damned B-PLUS, he couldn't have let me have the A-minus -
Writing out these thoughts has been tough, not just because I'm finally coming to terms with a part of my childhood I forso long hoped would just disappear, but I'm having trouble putting it down in words. And I know that at some future date when I am comfortable with the idea of sharing this blog's contents with Ls and Lb, I don't want to hurt them more. Even now, all these years later, I'm trying to shield them from the pain my csa may cause them. I know I'm not responsible for it. I cannot continue to play the roll of preschooler RR, taking care of everyone else's feelings like my own don't
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I've been writing this blog for a while now and I have a few observations. Some were expected, others surprising. Occasionally (either while I'm just thinking about what to write or, much less often, while I'm actually writing,) when something happens that reminds me of mychildhood - a smell, a sound, etc) I burst into tears, reminded of how I felt as a kid. It's been happening several times a week. This usually only lasts a few minutes. I feel profoundly sad for the young RR. It's like I'm feeling all this now because I'm allowed to feel this now. Sometimes I don't know what the myste
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I'm eighteen. I've already moved out. At this point I'm living in my bf's grandma's house. I come to visit my mom because she says she has something important to tell me. So I drive a half hour over to the house and we talk. She's nervous. We walk casually out to the garden. It's only a few yards from her horse's fenced in pasture. Crescent comes over near the fence to say hi. It's been a few months and I've missed him. His chores used to be my responsibility. I'd bring him home my apple cores or banana peels from lunch at school. My mom stops the small talk and abruptly I understand why she i
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I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and have come to the conclusion that my mother wasn't just merely neglectful, did not just simply "fail to protect me." She actively sexually abused me. I have a knot in my stomach as I write this. Today was the first time I've ever said that out loud. I said it to my T. I've always thought about it in terms of her being mean and rough and slapping me around. For some reason I've never seen it like that before. I've been thinking and thinking about it and can't really call it anything else. There's a word for it. A heavy two word term. I
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It is a good day. My husb and I are in town at Walmart shopping. I remember we were in a good mood, flirting with each other. Unsuspecting, we casually walk down the deodorant aisle. Like bees we sample some of the offerings, slightly opening the lids just a crack, enough to smell the contents, sharing the ones we liked, then jamming the sticks back in those springloaded deodorant holder thingys. "Do I want to smell like this?" "How about this one?" "Do you want me to smell like this or this? Which one is better?" "I don't know...which do you like better?" I lik
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The worst lies I was ever told were the ones I told myself. They were the lies my shame told me - the goal of this lying was to protect myself, to make the situation seem "not so bad." If it was my fault, I could have prevented it, right? I could have stopped it. If I can minimize the awfulness, then it's not so bad. If it's not so bad then really, did it happen? Maybe I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe my pain doesn't matter. Some of these lies I stopped believing a long time ago, some versions of them I held for longer and only recently set these false beliefs free. Here
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I'm a mom collector. It took me a long time to realize that. I'm super good at collecting sweet caring attentive mother-in-laws. At adopting mother-figures and grandmother-figures. I've been married twice, divorced twice, and have had awesome in-laws both times. I still am very close to both of them. Whenever I talk about my childhood, I give all the credit for raising me to my Gram. I feel like my mom shouldn't get any credit, since almost none of the positive things I've learned have been because she taught me. I learned how to be loving and protective despite her best efforts, not beca
